On The Lord Gen. Fairfax At The Seige Of Colchester
Fairfax, whose name in armes through Europe rings
Filling each mouth with envy, or with praise,
And all her jealous monarchs with amaze,
And rumors loud, that daunt remotest kings,
Thy firm unshak'n vertue ever brings
Victory home, though new rebellions raise
Their Hydra heads, & the fals North displaies
Her brok'n league, to impe their serpent wings,
O yet a nobler task awaites thy hand;
Yet what can Warr, but endless warr still breed,
Till Truth, & Right from Violence be freed,
And Public Faith cleard from the shamefull brand
Of Public Fraud. In vain doth Valour bleed
While Avarice, & Rapine share the land.
poem by John Milton
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To My Lord Fairfax
Fairfax, whose Name in Arms through Europe rings,
And fills all Mouths with Envy or with Praise,
And all her Jealous Monarchs with Amaze.
And Rumours loud which daunt remotest Kings,
Thy firm unshaken Valour ever brings
Victory home, while new Rebellions raise
Their Hydra-heads, and the false North displays
Her broken League to Imp her Serpent Wings:
O yet! a Nobler task awaits thy Hand,
For what can War, but Acts of War still breed
Till injur'd Truth from Violence be freed;
And publick Faith be rescu'd from the Brand
Of publick Fraud; in vain doth Valour bleed,
While Avarice and Rapine shares the Land.
poem by John Milton
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Elegy XX (Alternate) Love's War
Till I have peace with thee, warr other Men,
And when I have peace, can I leave thee then?
All other Warrs are scrupulous; Only thou
0 fayr free Citty, maist thyselfe allow
To any one: In Flanders, who can tell
Whether the Master presse; or men rebell?
Only we know, that which all Ideots say,
They beare most blows which come to part the fray.
France in her lunatique giddines did hate
Ever our men, yea and our God of late;
Yet she relyes upon our Angels well,
Which nere returne; no more than they which fell.
Sick Ireland is with a strange warr possest
Like to an Ague; now raging, now at rest;
Which time will cure: yet it must doe her good
If she were purg'd, and her head vayne let blood.
And Midas joyes our Spanish journeys give,
We touch all gold, but find no food to live.
And I should be in the hott parching clime,
To dust and ashes turn'd before my time.
To mew me in a Ship, is to inthrall
Mee in a prison, that weare like to fall;
Or in a Cloyster; save that there men dwell
In a calme heaven, here in a swaggering hell.
Long voyages are long consumptions,
And ships are carts for executions.
Yea they are Deaths; Is't not all one to flye
Into an other World, as t'is to dye?
Here lett mee warr; in these armes lett mee lye;
Here lett mee parle, batter, bleede, and dye.
Thyne armes imprison me, and myne armes thee,
Thy hart thy ransome is, take myne for mee.
Other men war that they their rest may gayne;
But wee will rest that wee may fight agayne.
Those warrs the ignorant, these th'experienc'd love,
There wee are alwayes under, here above.
There Engins farr off breed a just true feare,
Neere thrusts, pikes, stabs, yea bullets hurt not here.
There lyes are wrongs; here safe uprightly ly;
Tltere men kill men, we'will make one by and by,
Thou nothing; I not halfe so much shall do
In these Warrs, as they may which from us two
Shall spring. Thousands wee see which travaile not
To warrs; But stay swords, armes, and shott
To make at home; And shall not I do then
More glorious service, staying to make men?
poem by John Donne
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To the Lord Generall Cromwell May 1652
On The Proposalls Of Certaine Ministers At The Committee For
Propagation Of The Gospell
Cromwell, our cheif of men, who through a cloud
Not of warr onely, but detractions rude,
Guided by faith & matchless Fortitude
To peace & truth thy glorious way hast plough'd,
And on the neck of crowned Fortune proud
Hast reard Gods Trophies, & his work pursu'd,
While Darwen stream with blood of Scotts imbru'd,
And Dunbarr field resounds thy praises loud,
And Worsters laureat wreath; yet much remaines
To conquer still; peace hath her victories
No less renownd then warr, new foes aries
Threatning to bind our soules with secular chaines:
Helpe us to save free Conscience from the paw
Of hireling wolves whose Gospell is their maw.
poem by John Milton
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This Southern Land of Ours
With alien hearts to frame our laws
And cheat us as of old,
In vain our soil is rich, in vain
'Tis seamed with virgin gold:
But the present only yields us nought,
The future only lours
Till we dare to be a people
In this Southern Land of Ours.
What would pygmean statesmen but
Our new-world prospects blast,
By chaining native enterprise
To Europe's pauper past,
With all its misery for the mass,
And fraud-upholden powers;
But we'll yet have men, - like Cromwell,
In this Southern Land of Ours.
And lo, the unploughed future, boys,
May yet be all our own,
If hearts that love their Native Land
Determine this alone:
To sow its years with crops of truth,
And border these with flowers,
Till we have a birth of heroes
In this Southern Land of Ours.
poem by Charles Harpur
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Europe Endless
Europe endless
Endless endless endless endless
Europe endless
Endless endless endless endless
Life is timeless
Europe endless
Life is timeless
Europe endless
Europe endless
Endless endless endless endless
Europe endless
Endless endless endless endless
Parks, hotels and palaces
Europe endless
Parks, hotels and palaces
Europe endless
Promenades and avenues
Europe endless
Real life and postcard views
Europe endless
Europe endless
Endless endless endless endless
Europe endless
Endless endless endless endless
Elegance and decadence
Europe endless
Elegance and decadence
Europe endless
song performed by by Kraftwerk
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Must Be Freed
The ante-bellum Negro prayed,
For God to intercede,
And God in answer to him said,
'Your children shall be freed.'
The hand was seen upon the wall,
The fates at once decreed
That Negro bondsmen one and all,
Should soon be free, indeed.
'If Abraham Lincoln's president'
The South said, 'we'll secede;'
They apprehended he'd consent,
For Negroes to be freed.
To battle North against the South,
O'er states rights was agreed,
But echo from the cannon's mouth,
Said, 'Negroes must be freed.'
Confed'rates did with marked success,
McClellan's steps impede,
Till Abr'm Lincoln did confess,
That Negroes must be freed.
The Union boys with heaven's strength,
From that time did succeed;
And fought with valor till at length,
The Negro slaves were freed.
The Jim Crow car for Negroes made,
To crush their pride, indeed,
Has on the harps of thinkers played,
Those people must be freed.
The right of suffrage from the men,
Is taken out of greed;
A better day is coming when
They shall from this be freed.
Black men before the lyncher's rope,
In vain for mercy plead,
But justice cries, 'There is a hope,
From such you shall be freed.'
From ignorance and poverty,
From superstition's creed,
From those who crush his liberty,
The Negro must be freed.
The hand has written on the wall,
The clouds must all recede,
For God Whose word can never fall,
Says,'Negroes must be freed.'
poem by Lizelia Augusta Jenkins Moorer
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Now they have come to the place where their faith can no longer feed on the bread of repression and violence. They ask for the bread of liberty, of public equality, and public responsibility. It must not be denied them.
quote by Mordecai Wyatt Johnson
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All ye nations, praise the Lord,
All ye nations, praise the Lord,
All ye lands your voices raise;
Heaven and earth with loud accord,
Praise the Lord, for ever praise.
For his truth and mercy stand,
Past, and present, and to be,
Like the years of his right hand,
Like his own eternity.
Praise Him, ye who know his love;
Praise Him from the depth beneath;
Praise Him in the heights above;
Praise your Maker, all that breathe.
poem by James Montgomery
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Yankees Take Shine Off Big Apple
Steinbrenner kids take over club for sick dad
Cut a deal with NYC for brand new stadium
Buy land cheap; ask public funds, smart lads
Beware Kucinich getting hotter than radium
“No public money for stadiums”
ROTMS
poem by Ray Lucero
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Faith vs. Doubt
Feed your faith and starve your doubt,
Confess the Lord Jesus with your mouth,
Praise His holy name with a shout,
Drive the demons of the devil out.
First and foremost read the word,
Speak it aloud to be sure it’s heard,
Don’t be like Peter starting to cuss & swear,
Tell the world you know Jesus is there.
Doubt is deceitful and doubt is doom,
Doubt is defeated and doubt is gloom,
Faith is victory and faith is success,
Faith is the word and it brings out the best.
Imagine the Colts or Steelers being 0 & 16,
Is it sinking in now, understand what I mean?
How about the New York Yankees at 0 & 162?
What other way can I make it clearer to you?
Faith is not something you buy and exchange,
God wants it permanently stamped on your brain,
D is for the devil that wants you to deny,
Satan is jealous he’s already lost eternal life.
Faith is a trait the devil can no longer possess,
He’s already been given and failed his test,
Satan doesn’t doubt God’s love being true,
This is why he’s trying so hard to defeat you.
He tried to overthrow the Commander In Chief,
Failing miserably Satan wants more to share his grief,
Sadly, too many don’t believe Narrow is the Gate,
And all you need to do is have God given faith.
poem by Luke Easter
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Thank and Praise Jehovah's Name
Thank and Praise Jehovah’s Name;
For His mercies, firm and sure,
From eternity the same
To eternity endure.
Let the ransomed thus rejoice,
Gathered out of every land,
As the people of His choice,
Plucked from the destroyer’s hand.
Praise Him, ye who know His love;
Praise Him from the depths beneath;
Praise Him in the heights above;
Praise your Maker all that breathe.
For His truth and mercy stand,
Past, and present, and to be,
Like the years of His right hand—
Like His own eternity.
poem by James Montgomery
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Psalm 57
Praise for protection, grace, and truth.
My God, in whom are all the springs
Of boundless love, and grace unknown,
Hide me beneath thy spreading wings,
Till the dark cloud is overblown.
Up to the heav'ns I send my cry,
The Lord will my desires perform;
He sends his angel from the sky,
And saves me from the threat'ning storm.
Be thou exalted, O my God,
Above the heav'ns, where angels dwell;
Thy power on earth be known abroad,
And land to land thy wonders tell.
My heart is fixed; my song shall raise
Immortal honors to thy name;
Awake, my tongue, to sound his praise,
My tongue, the glory of my frame.
High o'er the earth his mercy reigns,
And reaches to the utmost sky;
His truth to endless years remains,
When lower worlds dissolve and die.
Be thou exalted, O my God,
Above the heav'ns, where angels dwell;
Thy power on earth be known abroad,
And land to land thy wonders tell.
poem by Isaac Watts
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Sonnet 69: Oh Joy, Too High For My Low Style
Oh joy, too high for my low style to show:
Oh bliss, fit for a nobler state than me:
Envy, put out thine eyes, lest thou do see
What oceans of delight in me do flow.
My friend, that oft saw through all masks my woe,
Come, come, and let me pour myself on thee;
Gone is the winter of my misery,
My spring appears, oh see what here doth grow.
For Stella hath with words where faith doth shine,
Of her high heart giv'n me the monarchy:
I, I, oh I may say that she is mine,
And though she give but thus condition'ly
This realm of bliss, while virtuous course I take,
No kings be crown'd, but they some covenants make.
poem by Philip Sidney
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An Evangelist's Wife
“Why am I not myself these many days,
You ask? And have you nothing more to ask?
I do you wrong? I do not hear your praise
To God for giving you me to share your task?
“Jealous—of Her? Because her cheeks are pink,
And she has eyes? No, not if she had seven.
If you should only steal an hour to think,
Sometime, there might be less to be forgiven.
“No, you are never cruel. If once or twice
I found you so, I could applaud and sing.
Jealous of—What? You are not very wise.
Does not the good Book tell you anything?
“In David’s time poor Michal had to go.
Jealous of God? Well, if you like it so.”
poem by Edwin Arlington Robinson
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John Duke of Marlborough
When the proud Frenchman's strong rapacious hand
Spread o'er Europe ruin and command,
Our sinking temples and expiring law
With trembling dread the rolling tempest saw;
Destin'd a province to insulting Gaul,
This genius rose, and stopp'd the ponderous fall.
His temperate valour form'd no giddy scheme,
No victory ras'd him to a rage of fame;
The happy temper of his even mind
No danger e'er could shock, or conquest blind.
Fashion'd alike by Nature and by Art,
To please, engage, and int'rest ev'ry heart.
In public life by all who saw approv'd,
In private hours by all who knew him lov'd.
poem by Lady Mary Wortley Montagu
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The Angels Came Upon The Battle Fields
The angels came down upon the battle field
To deliver faith, and to heal.
They put back faith in the hearts of these women/men
Until this “ uncalled for war” would finally end.
They looked upon the wounded laying on the ground
But their faith had been found.
They looked at the spirits rising from the dead
And they all bowed their heads.
They said a prayer for every one
Who was going to meet the fathers son.
May the lord raise his hand, and bless
all nations and their promised land.
May he touch the hearts of all in despair
And give love and joy for them to share.
But! The angels jobs were far from through
There was so much that they had to do.
Faith wasn’t only needed on the soldiers battle field
But this entire world needed to heal.
They spread their powerful white wings to the skies
And they all began to fly.
The whites of the wings covered the skies
As they started to heal you and I.
The world felt the strength in their wings
As it touched every thing.
Their hearts filled, as the tears rolled from their eyes
For GOD gave them the greatest surprise.
He gave them faith when there was none to be found
And turned their hearts completely around.
poem by Louis Rams
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Modern Love XXVI: Love Ere He Bleeds
Love ere he bleeds, an eagle in high skies,
Has earth beneath his wings: from reddened eve
He views the rosy dawn. In vain they weave
The fatal web below while far he flies.
But when the arrow strikes him, there's a change.
He moves but in the track of his spent pain,
Whose red drops are the links of a harsh chain,
Binding him to the ground, with narrow range.
A subtle serpent then has Love become.
I had the eagle in my bosom erst:
Henceforward with the serpent I am cursed.
I can interpret where the mouth is dumb.
Speak, and I see the side-lie of a truth.
Perchance my heart may pardon you this deed:
But be no coward:--you that made Love bleed,
You must bear all the venom of his tooth!
poem by George Meredith
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I mean the public likes it more in Europe than they do here because the state supported organizations have felt that playing contemporary music was part of the education of the public.
quote by Elliott Carter
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Inscriptions: IV: O Youths And Virgins
O youths and virgins: o declining eld:
O pale misfortune's slaves: o ye who dwell
Unknown with humble quiet; ye who wait
In courts, or fill the golden seat of kings:
O sons of sport and pleasure: o thou wretch
That weep'st for jealous love, or the sore wounds
Of conscious guilt, or death's rapacious hand
Which left thee void of hope: o ye who roam
In exile; ye who through the embattled field
Seek bright renown; or who for nobler palms
Contend, the leaders of a public cause;
Approach: behold this marble. Know ye not
The features? Hath not oft his faithful tongue
Told you the fashion of your own estate,
The secrets of your bosom? Here then, round
His monument with reverence while ye stand,
Say to each other: “This was Shakespear's form;
“Who walk'd in every path of human life,
“Felt every passion; and to all mankind
“Doth now, will ever, that experience yield
“Which his own genius only could acquire.”
poem by Mark Akenside
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Sonnet 90: Stella, Think Not That I
Stella, think not that I by verse seek fame,
Who seek, who hope, who love, who live but thee;
Thine eyes my pride, thy lips my history:
If thou praise not, all other praise is shame.
Nor so ambitious am I, as to frame
A nest for praise in my young laurel tree:
In truth I swear, I wish not there should be
Grav'd in mine epitaph a poet's name:
Ne if I would, could I just title make,
That any laud to me thereof should grow,
Without my plumes from others' wings I take.
For nothing from my wit or will doth flow,
Since all my words thy beauty doth indite,
And Love doth hold my hand, and makes me write.
poem by Philip Sidney
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